The Performer

The Performer
Arty

Audre Lorde

I write for those women who do not speak, for those who do not have a voice because they were so terrified, because we are taught to respect fear more than ourselves. We've been taught that silence would save us, but it won't.

 

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Reverse call

It's three O'clock,
I take my phone,
My fingers quavering,
My mind galloping like a stallion,

I want to make that call,
To tell you to come back,
On the buttons I press,
Trembling like I have a fever,

I press the number,
But I hang up,
Before the dial could connect,
I put the phone back,
And with a whisper,
I speak the words,
That I would have wanted you to hear,

Unsure they would have made sense,
At this point in time,
I take the phone again,
Sure this time I will not fret,
I dial your number again,
But you won't pick up,

I scribble a short message,
And with a whisper I read,
Wishing you could hear,
I dial your number again,
This time, it sounds like a reverse call,
All my calls, diverted to a stranger's phone,

In a twist of events,
It's a reverse call,
And all that is left,
Is for me to talk to myself,
Since you to my plea,
You won't listen.


K8's O

1 comment:

  1. I wanted to find out what the whole furore over your poetry was all about. Sio mbaya. I see you have done some good stuff. I give it a 2.5

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